Something amazing happened last night! Someone started reading my book on Kindle and got about a fifth of the way through. Maybe it doesn’t sound like much but it’s been so long since someone read more than ten pages. Naturally I’ve been checking my stats obesessively all day, hoping they would read more. So far no, but I live in hope. But something strange happened this weekend, after I finished the fifth draft of Chocolates on My Pillow. For the first time in years, I really wanted to read Chocolates in the Ocean again. And not just because I need to be sure exactly how many bedrooms Anne has in that house.
Snow started falling in enormous, fluffy flakes not long after I arrived at the office this morning. I sat gazing at them all day, watching them settle on the frozen harbour, dreaming of the hot chocolate I would have once I got home. I sneaked a little peak at my book this morning, and I was surprised by how much I wanted to be back in Anne’s world. Or perhaps it’s just because I wish I could see my house in Langeland all covered in snow and reading about it is the best I can do.
I think I’m having a bit of a mid-life crisis. I can’t help feeling that I should be doing something different with my life than this IT Project Manager I seem to have morphed into. The stronger that feeling gets, the more I retreat into my laptop and cook books. It seems that I have just managed to bake chocolate muffins that actually smell like hot chocolate! They’re laced with a little raspberry so they’re not completely unhealthy. And we all know that that chocolate is a vegetable. (Recipe will come – on condition they taste as good as they smell.)
I’m a writer. I want to create. I walk home from work and I look at the snow on the ground and in the trees, and I see my characters running in front of me, taking shape more and more with each day. All I ever really wanted to do was read and write. I’ve wasted enough time wondering why I didn’t work at it more, why I didn’t find a job that would allow me to write, but I know it’s not going to get me anywhere. What will get me somewhere will be to keep walking through the snow. Keep writing. Keep baking. Somewhere amongst the notebooks and mixing bowls, is the answer I am looking for.